


Grapefruit Your Man

by Red



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Blogging, Canon Disabled Character, Charles is a Teacher, Established Relationship, M/M, Oral Sex, Ought to Be a Tag By Now, Poor Erik, Sex Positive, YouTube, grapefruiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-18 18:55:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3580281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red/pseuds/Red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles has a wonderful job as a sex educator, and runs a blog for which he at times solicits the opinions of his long-time (and long-suffering) partner, Erik. </p>
<p>You'd think, this long in the profession, Charles would have heard near everything. But a grapefruit technique is certainly new one, and well. Erik's about to become a bit more intimate with <i>Citrus paradisi</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grapefruit Your Man

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KatiaSwift](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatiaSwift/gifts).



> Ages ago in #xmentales chat, the following video was shared while we were discussing Charles as a sex educator. I started writing it with KatiaSwift's encouragement, but wound up letting this fall by the wayside for quite some time. 
> 
> You really do need to watch [Angel's Grapefruit Technique](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hdHZ5hp45Fc) video to appreciate the technique and this story. The **video is decidedly NSFW** , and if you're watching it at home with others, it's best to turn the sound down a bit. Please take that in mind! 
> 
> As a further note, sadly by the time I finished this, BOTH of the Fleshlight products I refer to have since fallen out of production. Happily, [there's a review comparing the products in question](http://karasutrareviews.com/2011/11/03/succu-dry-count-cockula-fleshlights/) that you can still read. **Again, the link is not safe for work**. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone in chat for the encouragement!

Still toweling his hair, Charles yawns and opens the laptop. 

In the last couple years, he’s got much better obeying the “no-laptops-in-bed” decree, leaving it set on his desk, day in and day out. Mostly, that’s just as one can now very well check one’s email and blog and tumblr account and twitter and pretty much anything else one needs easy as anything from the comfort of a mobile, but he believes it’s the thought that counts. 

Even if Erik is now just getting _that_ levitated just out of reach, most nights. 

Checking his askbox, though. That’s enough like work (worse, considering Charles’s day job is teaching workshops for those over the age of 18) that he’s never tempted to go through it anywhere, let alone in bed.

And now as ever, there are no surprises as he starts scrolling though the questions. Towel draped over his shoulders, he props his chin against one hand, skimming. 

The first handful are all variations on “but how can you have an orgasm without a working cock,” which is as typical and depressing as ever. Honestly, he thinks, not for the first time. Don’t these people know about humans without penises? The mind boggles. 

Then there’s the usual half of the messages which are flat-out spam, which he deletes along with. This leaves a the paltry few questions he’ll actually take time to answer: pleasant inquiries regarding this toy or that, asking for more information after reading a review he’d posted, trying to find a dependable source for ostomy-friendly lingerie, that sort of thing.

But then, buried in the midst of it all--there it is. 

“ _hey thanks for the amazing blog!! i was hoping tho can u do a review of the grapefruit thing?_ ” 

Initially, he dismisses it.

Grapefruit. Really.

He scrolls down to the next ask, and suddenly realizes he isn’t reading a word. 

Grapefruit, is all he can think. Grapefruit thing.

Obviously it’s a _sex_ thing, that goes without saying. And while he’s aware many people enjoy mixing food and fucking--it’s never been a particular interest of his, and he’s sure Erik would dismiss the concept as “needlessly messy”--generally speaking, it’s not usually a kink regarding a solitary citrus fruit.

Chances are, Charles thinks as he opens a new tab, this ask will not lead anywhere productive at all. But he’s never been able to stand being in the dark, _particularly_ when it comes to his chosen field of study. Even if this is winds up just some throwaway Cosmo tip-of-the-month, there’s no way he’s _not_ searching “grapefruit sex.” 

The first link is a YouTube video. “ANGEL TEACHING HER GRAPEFRUIT TECHNIQUE,” the title reads, and Charles leans forward in his chair, intrigued. 

Erik’s at work. He won’t be home for hours yet. 

Watching, Charles first just has to give credit to this Angel for running a great tutorial. The mention of alternate fruits for those taking medications that could interact with a grapefruit blowjob is a lovely touch, and she’s nothing if not enthusiastic in her technique. 

But as it goes on, he can only think of two things:

One, he’s _definitely_ going to have to write about this. 

And two, he’s still got loads of time to get down to the grocery store.

\------

By the time Erik gets home, Charles has the kitchen table set, dinner on the stove--a nice curry, the only thing he can make with any sort of skill--and three of the largest grapefruits money can buy.

It wouldn’t pay to be caught ill-prepared, now, would it? What if he cuts one wrong? What if one’s all rind? Erik isn’t really “navel orange” material, Charles thinks, flipping the chapati he’s got cooking. 

Now all he needs to do is think of a way to _tactfully_ broach the topic of grapefruit sex.

He senses Erik’s mind while he’s still blocks away. Brushing extra flour off the next chapati, Charles breathes a sigh of relief. At least it seems Erik had a tolerable day of work, and he’s in a relatively good mood, which bodes well for any experiment.

The video did suggest blindfolding your partner and just spring the grapefruit mid-coitus, and now that he’s down to the wire, Charles has to admit the idea is tempting. How’re you supposed to _discuss_ this? What, do you tell your partner, “hey, love, we’ve been together for almost a decade now, perhaps it’s time we went ahead and stuck a grapefruit on it”? It’s like the old saying goes, far easier to beg forgiveness than ask permission to slip fruit on your lover’s cock. 

But tempting as it is, Charles can’t do that in good conscience. _Trust is a principal part of every relationship, sexual or otherwise_ , he always tells his students. And besides, the minute Erik smells fresh grapefruit in their bed, he’s going to know _something_ is up. Charles spares a half-second to envy those lucky enough to be fellating men who--as Angel put it--would think the scent just “some Victoria’s Secret” (and who are also presumably not _completely paranoid_ ) before Erik’s unlocking the front door. 

“Hello, darling,” Charles calls out. There’s the usual noise of Erik kicking off his shoes and hanging up his jacket in reply, accompanied by a warm press of affection and curiosity. Erik walks up behind him, stands back as Charles flips the current chapati, then ducks in to brush a kiss on his cheek. 

“Evening,” he says, straightening up to try and steal a bit of the bread Charles already has cooked. Charles raises the spatula threateningly, and Erik backs off, hands raised. He goes for the fridge instead, gets out a beer and opens it with his usual party trick, setting in to watch Charles finish up.

Charles smiles to himself, fond as ever of the sound. He might have heard Erik pop bottle caps off with his powers thousands of times by now, but as it’s what first got them talking--well, maybe he’s still a bit sentimental about it. Erik’s post-work silence is familiar, and Charles is often happy to talk right through it, but he needs all his wits about him to _not_ mention grapefruit.

Once dinner’s finally done, he wheels over to the kitchen table, flips the fresher of the two chapati right onto Erik’s plate. 

“All right, go for it,” he teases, and Erik starts serving the curry before tearing in. 

Charles makes him get a beer for him, too--hardly any effort when you can open your fridge from the next block over--and open it, half just to see the party trick.

And half to get just relaxed enough to suggest what he’s about to suggest. The curry turned out fine, but still he picks at it, trying to not look at the counter. 

Has he been too quiet? Has he looked at the counter too much already? He’s sure Erik must have noticed by now, but when Charles glances up at him, he’s entirely focused on his plate. 

Charles might have become bored with his One Decent Meal when he was getting his bachelor’s, but Erik hasn’t tired of it a bit, not in nine years. Which is incredibly lucky, Charles thinks. Erik can cook just about anything; even if he’s the one with a normal job, he’s generally in charge of their kitchen. It’s nice to have something to treat him with besides delivery. 

And hopefully, once he’s fed and relaxed, he’ll be somewhat amenable to suggestion. 

Erik finishes, takes the last sip of his beer, and slouches back in his chair. 

“So what came in today?” he asks. He sounds resigned. 

Flustered, Charles coughs, having nearly breathed in his own beer. 

“What? Nothing,” he protests, setting the bottle down. “Nothing came in. Why would--?”

Gesturing at his empty plate, Erik interrupts. “Come on, Charles. Dinner was perfect, as always. Now, who sent it. Tenga? Fleshlight? If Fleshlight sent you another vampire mouth--”

“That was only twice!”

“And I believe my review was, ‘one Dracula masturbation sleeve is all the market needs’?” 

Charles picks guiltily at the label on his beer. “Well, perhaps that’s why they sent both, and of course I appreciated your help with the review.” He clears his throat, considering. “They weren’t, ah--worse than you’d said at the time?” 

Erik shakes his head. “I’m always honest with the reviews. ‘Vaguely terrifying to look at, and not terribly more inspiring than your handjobs,’” he says. It is exactly what he’d said at the time. Charles had to press Erik for a more detailed comparison between the two, and word the review a touch more kindly. It’s not the manufacturer’s fault that Erik’s spoiled.

“Good,” Charles says, before looking away, at anything but the counter. “But, no. It’s not from either. It’s a bit more, well. Natural?” 

Raising his eyebrows, Erik leans forward a little. 

He certainly complains about his role as a spinal-cord-injury-free test erection, Charles thinks, but there’s no mistaking Erik’s enthusiasm for it. 

“Natural…” he trails off, clearly trying to puzzle it through. “Wait. You didn’t get something from that Bad Dragon--”

“No,” Charles says, quickly. This is the career you _chose_ , he reminds himself. Asides from the highly bizarre dinner conversations, you _usually_ enjoy it. “No, it’s more, uh. Organic? Than, you know, a silicone horse--” 

“Don’t even say it,” Erik gripes, as if he weren’t the one bringing it up. 

“I’m sure you wouldn’t find it any more unsettling than the vampiric blowjob,” Charles claims. Erik scoffs and looks fascinated by the silverware. Despite his enthusiasm, there’s times when he seems happy to forget certain experiences he and Charles have shared.

“So. Organic,” he says, after a bit. 

Charles glances at the counter again. 

“Well. Actually, I’m afraid they’re all conventionally grown. I _did_ have to buy the largest,” Charles says, and Erik stares at him. 

Slowly, he turns to track Charles’s gaze. Charles reaches over to clasp his arm, diverting him. 

He grins as winsomely as possible. 

“Have you heard of it? It’s all the rage. I could show you the video, if you like, it’s quite educa--”

“Grapefruit,” Erik interrupts. He stares back at the counter, then meets Charles’s eyes again. 

He looks deeply concerned. 

“I haven’t. I-- _Three_ of them?”

“Oh, no, I… The act only calls for just the one. I only, that is--” he pauses, tapping his fingers on Erik’s arm lightly, gathering his thoughts. “It’s not important. Surely it isn’t too terribly exotic, in the scheme of things? You just penetrate the, uh…” he trails off again. “Well. It’s a new oral sex technique. And you do so enjoy oral sex techniques.” 

“Who doesn’t?” Erik asks, then quickly adds, “please don’t answer that. This isn’t a lecture hall.” 

Charles tilts his head a bit. “So. What do you think?” 

“I think I’m about to become intimately acquainted with produce,” Erik answers, sounding too amused for his long-suffering act to be effective, and he stands. 

“Shall we?” 

Smiling up at him, Charles pushes back from the table. “Yes! I mean, of course.” Getting an early start means he can type up the post tonight, and get to link that video on his blog, and Erik gives him a look like he knows exactly what Charles is thinking. 

“Any _other_ requests,” he asks, hesitating as he watches Charles wheel toward the kitchen counter. 

“Don’t think so,” Charles says, trusting he’ll find Erik stripped down when he gets to the bedroom. Erik makes it to the kitchen door and Charles has picked up one of the grapefruits before he changes his mind, calling Erik back.

“Wait--grab a towel,” he says. “Or two.” 

If nothing else, this is bound to be a mess. 

He picks up a knife as Erik leaves, starts slicing the ends of the grapefruit off. 

He just hopes Erik finds it an _enjoyable_ one.

\------

Wheeling into the bedroom with a grapefruit in his lap is certainly a first. But carrying a plate full of grapefruit isn’t _that_ much more strange than all the times he’s gone in with a bowl of ice or a couple packages of clothespins or a lapful of dildos.

At least that’s what he’s telling himself. 

Preparing the grapefruit and getting ready for bed has allowed more than enough time for Erik to have got into the position he usually assumes when waiting to be a participant in one of Charles’s experiments. 

Nude, he’s sitting on the edge of their bed, feet planted flat on the floor. As always, he’s got his arms loosely crossed, the only sign he ever has of being nervous about whatever it is Charles has planned. And, as always, the moment Charles approaches he straightens his back and unfolds his arms, opening to Charles. 

Charles stops just in front of him. Really, this could be any other night, save for the plate in his lap and the towels Erik’s currently sitting on. 

And the expression Erik has. 

Charles smiles, trying to look as harmless as possible as he sets the plate down by Erik’s side. He hasn’t seen Erik _this_ suspicious in the bedroom since the time with the vampire mouths.

“Don’t give me that look,” Erik says, picking up what remains of the grapefruit and examining it. Charles doesn’t know what he expects, it’s just a grapefruit with the ends lopped off. 

And the middle excised to, well. Accomodate. 

Erik frowns at it like he’s truly expecting it’ll bite. Charles sighs, and carefully takes it back. 

“It’ll be fine. Just relax,” Charles advises, setting the grapefruit back on the plate, and Erik snorts. 

“Easy for you to say, you’re not the one who’s going to spend the next month picking seeds out of his--”

“I bought seedless! Now, come along,” he says, greedily reaching to squeeze Erik’s ass and pull him even closer to the edge of the bed. 

This, at least, is fairly straightforward. He circles the base of Erik’s cock with one hand, licks his lips as he feels it pulse and start to thicken. Erik’s watching him closely, and he shifts, getting his legs braced around the chair. 

With an idle flick of his powers, Erik raises the height of their bed slightly, just enough to make sure the position isn’t any strain on Charles’s back, and Charles grins as he leans in.

“Thank you, darling,” he purrs, making sure his breath gusts hot against Erik’s skin. 

Erik’s usually quiet in bed, so it’s compliment enough when he sighs, a soft catch in his breathing when Charles gets his lips around him. 

It’s not vanity if he really _is_ that good, Charles thinks, cupping one hand against that firm arse as he curls his tongue against the underside of Erik’s cock. He loves sucking Erik off, loves getting his mouth on him while he’s not even half-hard and feeling that huge cock get enormous, to stretch his lips and push delightfully against his palate and tongue. Charles hums, twisting the hand he’s got circled against the base, dipping his head get Erik in deep. Erik’s got one hand threaded through his hair, now, and Charles can feel the long muscles of his thighs flex and relax, like he’s trying not to thrust. 

His aim’s just to get Erik hard, but it’s easy, so easy to get carried away. He takes Erik in far enough that he’s swallowing against him, gagging and reveling in the way it leaves him dizzy with lack of oxygen and gets Erik twitching against the back of his throat, before he finally pulls off with a wet sound. 

“Hmm,” Erik mumbles, sounding a more than a bit put-out. 

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Charles sits back up. He clears his throat before speaking. 

“Did you think it likely I’d forget?” he asks, already reaching for the grapefruit. 

“You can’t fault me for hoping,” Erik tells him. He’s tracking the movement of the grapefruit like it was a bloody missile, and Charles raises an eyebrow.

He stops, putting the grapefruit back down. 

“Wait, hold up,” Erik starts, before Charles can say anything. “Charles, I’m not saying _no_.” 

“You’re not exactly enthusiastic.” 

“I don’t exactly harbor a secret produce fetish,” Erik counters. He leans over briefly, just quick enough to grab a kiss. “Admit it’s bizarre. But I still want you to. I always want you.” 

Charles flushes, touched, and Erik keeps talking. 

“--no matter what horrors your readers inflict on my penis.” 

Charles shoots him a glare as he picks the grapefruit back up. 

“If memory recalls, you only ever seem to complain about said horrors _before_ the fact.” 

“I don’t _complain_ , I just--um.” 

Erik’s got an expression somewhere between perplexed and deeply concerned when Charles looks back up. 

He’d been keeping his powers lightly twined over Erik’s sensory perception, but all he’s reading right now is the mental equivalent of “um,” which certainly doesn’t explain much.

Guiltily, he glances back down at the, well. The matter at hand. 

The grapefruit. 

At least, Charles thinks, it seems he sized the hole right.

"Just um?" he asks. Feeling more than a bit awkward, Charles grips the sides of the fruit and twists once, watching and reading Erik for his reaction.

The muscles of his thighs jump, a confused sort of almost-pleasure sparking in his mind. 

“Just um,” Erik agrees, thinking _admit it’s bizarre_ again, loudly as he can. 

_But I’m not saying no, much as I may regret it later_ , Charles hears, and he smirks as he lowers his head again. 

After all, this is primarily an oral sex technique, if the video’s anything to go by. Novel as the sensation may be, he truly doubts a grapefruit alone’s going to be enough to get Erik off. 

He just hopes it’s not odd enough that it throws Erik off from what usually _does_ work. 

He starts out flicking his tongue gently over the head of Erik’s cock, curious himself. It’s really just what he’d expect, the brief flavor of grapefruit quickly vanishes, leaving just the familiar warmth and clean taste of Erik’s flesh. But, as he squeezes his hand and Erik involuntarily thrusts up a bit, he’s definitely starting to catalogue the benefits of this from his perspective. 

Deepthroating isn’t a technique Charles lacks experience in or particularly minds, for that matter. But Erik’s not what one could call _modestly_ endowed, and so that’s at first all Charles is thinking (yes, it’s a dreadful habit, outlining one’s blog posts mid-coitus, but Erik never complains too much): that this grapefruit thing is a very novel way to reduce your partner’s cock to something which may be _approaching_ reasonable proportions. Using his left hand to brace against Erik’s thigh, at first he just keeps a steady grip around the grapefruit with his right as he takes in what he can of Erik’s prick, pressing his tongue firmly against the underside as he sucks. 

And, once he’s got Erik a bit distracted from the _novel_ part of the blowjob, he goes back to what he recalls of the video. He’s not quite sure it’d work for Erik move-by-move, but the basics aren’t difficult. Charles starts pumping his hand, twisting the grapefruit as he does; at the same time, he starts fucking his mouth on Erik, hard and fast. 

There’s a half-second where Erik tenses beneath him, where the only thing that Charles gets through their connection is a spike of _what the fuck_. But it’s so brief that Charles doesn’t have time to react. Almost before the thought’s gone, Erik’s tightening his fingers in Charles’s hair again, holding on tight as he moans. 

It might be a strange sensation, but it’s obviously not _bad_. The wet flesh of the grapefruit gripping at his cock, the heat of Charles’s mouth--Erik’s clearly enjoying it. His hips twitch, trying not to thrust when Charles is fucking him with such a punishing rhythm, and Charles shoves down on him a little deeper, twists a little more roughly at the grapefruit. 

The sound of their panting breath, the sloppy wet noises of Charles’s mouth as Erik’s cock fucks into him, the lovely sharp smell of citrus right up against his face, the building feverish pleasure of Erik’s mind… For a long moment, that’s all that surrounds Charles, swarming his senses. 

Then Erik starts groaning, a constant, pathetically breathless sound; ground out between his breaths as his body strains. Charles can’t resist pulling back a little, needing to just glance up at Erik. 

He nearly starts groaning, himself. Erik looks almost pained, jaw clenched and eyes winced shut, the way he always does when he’s trying desperately not to come. One hand is still cupping the back of Charles’s neck, so gently, and the other is clawed against the linens. Charles starts squeezing harder at the grapefruit to watch him thrust against it, to listen to him mutter disbelieving swears under his breath. 

This is remarkable, Charles can’t help thinking. He lets his powers weave through Erik’s mind, to skim over his sensations, and now he’s moaning, a muffled nasal whine as he sucks Erik off. It feels like it’s _surreally_ good. Even if a bit messy, but even that--

Charles pulls off again, licks spit and precome and juice from his lips. God, he thinks, pumping hard at Erik’s prick. Every time he squeezes at the grapefruit, more pulp trails from the bottom, and now that he’s paying attention to that he just revels in how it alone makes Erik feel--how he’s at once mortified and turned on as the juices leak down around his prick, over his tightening balls. 

“Charles,” Erik says, a guttural plea. “I, I need--”

“Shhhh,” Charles murmurs. He can see what Erik wants, hard suction and the barest press of teeth just past his cockhead, and he’ll get it soon enough. 

For now, well, no point in letting the towels get _completely_ soaked. He leans in again to lick broad-tongued over the delicate skin of Erik’s balls, lapping up the stray juice and pulp. Erik shudders and splays his thighs a little further, giving Charles more room, and Charles obliges and opens his mouth wide to take him in. The weight of Erik’s testicles is lovely, stretching his lips, filling his mouth, and he keeps up the rippling pressure of his hand as he starts to hum.

“Fuck,” Erik groans, his hands clenching even tighter at Charles’s shoulders. “Fuck, _please_.” His thighs are splayed wide enough that Charles knows he’ll be paying for it later, when his hip starts in on him, but there’s not much Erik’s able to think of right now beyond “fuck” or “fuck, please.” Charles moans around him, starts pumping his hand recklessly hard, keeping his eyes winced shut because he hardly needs grapefruit juice in them. Erik hisses out a breath and holds onto Charles, desperately tight, as he fucks up into his hand and the grapefruit, and this may not be the _messiest_ sex they’ve ever had but Charles thinks it’s a damn near thing as he’s splattered and sticky with pulp and juice and finally--with a last, almost shocked-sounding whine-- _finally_ , with Erik’s come. 

“Shit,” Erik rasps out, panting hard enough that Charles can feel it, the heave of his abdomen. Clumsily, he eases his grip on Charles’s shoulders, starts petting over his hair and face, wherever he can reach. Charles hums again, satisfied and perhaps a bit smug, and Erik shivers. “Quit that,” he mumbles, “You’ll be the death of me.” 

“Mmm,” Charles agrees, before pulling off when Erik gives him a shove. He licks at his lips. “I should hope not,” he says, trying for seductive. 

It’s a bit less than successful. Erik just starts laughing, a husky noise that’s sensual enough to make Charles blush, even if he was just fellating someone with produce.

“You’re a mess,” Erik says, putting his hand on Charles’s cheek, swiping his thumb through his own come. 

Charles smiles up at him. “Worth it, though?” 

In answer, Erik looks down and raises his eyebrows before looking at Charles again. _You need to ask?_ is what Charles is going to pretend he’s thinking underneath what he’s actually sending through their connection, which is: _think you can do something about that?_

“Yes, darling,” he sighs, removing the offending citrus. It’s definitely more than a bit mangled, and he plops it back on the plate and starts to try shaking the pulp off his hand with little fanfare. 

Erik snorts, and takes hold of his wrist before he can get far. “It’s a good thing you’re cute. Here, come on. Let me,” he demands, pulling Charles’s hand to his mouth. He’s one to complain about being a mess, Charles thinks. Erik rubs up against his hand, licking sloppily at his palm and wrist, moaning a little as Charles shoves his fingers in deep to give him something to gag on and hold up--

“Hey, you know the rules,” Charles says, slipping his fingers free though it’s honestly the last thing he wants to do. “I need an honest review, in the moment, before you change your story.” 

With a bit of grumbling, Erik lets him go. “I don’t know what compels me to put up with you. Get up here, at least.” 

“I’m cute,” Charles says. He glances at the state of the comforter, but despite his misgivings, there’s actually not any mess beyond the towel. “And I have excellent oral sex techniques, and who doesn’t love those. Here,” he says, shoving the end of the towel over so it’s flopped over Erik’s thigh.

Transferring over, he gets an arm around Erik’s waist. Right away, Erik turns to cuddle against him, kissing light enough at Charles’s neck that he probably thinks it doesn’t violate the “no distractions until after your report” rule. 

While Erik can’t see, Charles grins, huge and a bit dopey. Erik’s always so sweet, right after the fact, _particularly_ so when he feels silly about enjoying whatever it was Charles brought in the bedroom. 

“So?” 

“Can’t you extrapolate,” Erik asks, not for the first time; and when Charles says nothing, he sighs and goes on. 

“Fine. It’s not awful, okay?” 

“Give me quotes like that, we’ll do it again.” 

“I hope that’s a promise,” and well. That’s at least a bit more telling, and Erik’s smirking when he looks up at him. “It wasn’t bad, what else can I say? Honestly, it’s just embarrassing, when you think about it.” 

Charles frowns--Erik’s usually not interested in societal views of, well, pretty much anything--but Erik laughs again, this time in his usual near-silent way. “When you compare it to some of the stuff we’ve got in there,” he says, sweeping a hand towards the chest of drawers that _isn’t_ holding clothing, “It’s a shame. We could have been saving so many resources, all these years.” 

“Stingy,” Charles accuses, and this time when Erik nudges at him, Charles happily goes ahead and pushes him over, landing atop him. Who cares, he thinks, about the mess. 

“How about I take care of you, then you can write up my next post,” Erik says, before he’s busy getting one of Charles’s earlobes in his mouth and making a lot of noise about how much he likes it, moaning deep in his chest as Charles radiates pleasure. 

Laughing, Charles grips the back of Erik’s head, pulling him closer. “Fuck,” he whispers, “Hold up, I think I can just imagine that one,” and Erik nips him, hard enough to make him groan. Hard enough that he knows it’ll bruise. 

Pulling off with a wet pop, Erik grins down at him, all teeth. “Then tell me about it,” he says, and before Charles can get a word in edgewise Erik’s going at his ear again. 

Really it’s unfair, he thinks. Erik’s got a lovely little side blog from his more militant environmentalist years, and he’s not once asked for Charles’s input on anything, no matter how many times Charles has asked for his, and he’s finally the perfect topic--

And he can’t say a thing, as Erik kisses slowly down his neck.


End file.
